The Glue to Mend a China Heart
by ProudDyspraxicWriter
Summary: After missing an important event in their lives, Sir's long suffering wife lampoons him at work, determined to do something about their poor relationship.


The Glue to Mend a China Heart

" Mom?"

Ingrid shuddered. With all the strength she held in her trembling hands, she clutched the steering wheel tightly and erupted into tears.

" Mom. It's OK. You're OK."

Angelina felt a shudder of her own as she reached over to place a hand on her mother's shaking shoulder. The teenager wished with all her might that it would bring her some sort of comfort, but she didn't hold out much hope. The crying was beginning to affect her now, too, and she had to fight hard not to show it. Emily, who sat beside her in the backseat, gave a small whimper of worry and concern. She was so young and innocent that she was barely old enough to fully understand what had just happened. For all the pint-sized girl knew, someone had died a horrible, terrifying death. Maybe Grandma had passed away in her sleep or in an automobile accident – the way Grandpa had. With a heavy heart, Emily looked out the window at her father. The smoke that emanated from his forever lit cigar made it difficult to read the expression on his face. He merely stood there behind the car, right in the middle of the mill, not moving an inch.

Ingrid continued to wail hopelessly as she began to fall fast into hysteria, her sobs growing louder with each heave of the lungs.

" Mom. Stop. It's OK," Angelina tried again in a small, shaky voice. It was all she could say without bursting into tears herself. With all the bawling and screaming going on, a headache quickly formed in the teenager's brain. She grimaced and moaned quietly in pain. Her eardrums were ready to tear apart in stress as it was. She couldn't believe what was happening. With a reasonably blissful childhood under her belt, not once had she ever thought she would be the one to wipe away her mum's tears in the event of separation.

A peculiar blubber escaped the confine of Ingrid's exhausted, hoarse throat. Angelina took it as some sort of a reply, but she couldn't be sure.

" _I did it for his benefit. Come, girls. Let's go home and binge on romantic movies with pizza and ice cream!"_

That's what Ingrid wanted to say. That's what she _needed_ to say for the sake of her sanity. Her unsteady, ragged breathing would not allow it. She wasn't sure if she believed it either. He'd done nothing for her benefit – ever – so why should she? Finally, after a short huff or two, she released a deep, sad sigh. When she woke up this morning, she never once thought that this was how it would all end.

* * *

" Suppose it was going to happen eventually," Ingrid muttered bitterly into her coffee cup. Still clothed in her nightgown, she really hadn't had the time to prepare herself for her day. Just like any other day, her husband had left early for work, leaving Ingrid no choice in making breakfast for the youngsters of the house. " Stupid, inconsiderate man," she went on.

Across the table, Angelina was not listening. Whenever her mother was in a bad mood like this, she'd always found a way to distract herself, so not to hear the rude insults and complaints that were hurled upon her father. That morning, a leaky black pen was glued to her right hand as she worked on a love note for her crush at school, while she held her glass of milk in the other. The egg and cheese crepe she'd specially requested had not been eaten – not even nibbled. Just at this moment, she was trying to figure out if anything rhymed with the word 'angel', but became too distracted by the excited nattering of her younger sister. Emily was on the floor, flat on her back, playing with her Barbie and Pretty Penny. It seemed they were involved in a violent battle on which one of them was the prettiest. Angelina scowled grimly to herself, but allowed her mother to continue her rant, so said nothing.

" He's always been like this. Since day one!"

Angelina nodded blankly as she crossed out a misspelling.

" If this was any other occasion," Ingrid prattled on, " I'd forgive him. You know I would, darling. But yesterday! Oh, my God!"

Without so much as a thought racing through her mind, the plump middle-aged woman slammed her fist down hard on the table. Both girls jumped out of their skins. They never would have expected such a fiery temper to escape their (normally) level-headed mother. Angelina, on the other hand, was a tad reminded of her past. She couldn't help but feel she had lived through something like this before. Maybe something even worse. She was eight, and Ingrid was weeks away from giving birth to Emily and every teeny-tiny thing anyone did annoyed her to no end. The teen could remember one particular incident when Sir wanted nothing more than to do something romantic and husbandly. He had offered to run a nice, relaxing bubble bath in hopes of reassuring her worried, anxious mind. But once the poor expectant wife realised he'd used the lavender fragrance instead of the favoured coconut and vanilla mixture, she was damn well near committing heinous murder. It was a very scary experience for all the family, especially for a child as young as Angelina was at the time, but it simply could not compare to the fury the two girls were witnessing now.

" That is it!" the woman barked, shooting up from her chair. " I'm going down there! Come on, girls. You two are coming along with me."

Out on his mid-morning stroll around the mill, Charles whistled and hummed happily. If anyone had had the pleasure of stalking him, they would most definitely see an upbeat bounce to his step. It seemed to possess him at times; he appeared to have no knowledge of it whatsoever. Suppose he had every right to keep up such a perky, jovial gait. Sir had been particularly tense lately. Over the past few weeks, he'd developed the unnerving habit of bellowing out loud in frustration and chucking paperwork about the office in fear. Whatever Sir had to be concerned about, Charles had no idea, but the boss had masked it pretty well at home – his girls none the wiser. So it was Charles who received the brunt of this roaming ferocity. The co-owner didn't mind, of course, because Sir's anger was very, very, _very_ slowly beginning to mellow.

The sunlight kissed the roof of the mill, which bathed the surrounding area in a heavenly golden hue. Charles paused for a moment. Frozen to the spot, he let his eyelids lower lazily until they were clamped shut. He could feel the calm about the place, a warming breeze swooping in on him as if God Himself took notice of him. He couldn't tell if he was smiling or not, but in this environment, he didn't really care. His chest filled with air, and a little dust from all the scattered bark, and released one light, soothing sigh. He was reminded of how his mother used to hold him when he was a child, and realised how much he missed her. It wasn't long, however, before he was wrenched from his thoughts. A burst of voices exploded from the mill. Charles' head almost swivelled right off his shoulders as he looked in that direction in shock. Muffled and muddled, they were not the most talented voices in the world, but were passionate and joyous. As Charles listened to them, he could clearly pick out a rhythm. The employees were singing. But why? Curious to learn more, he tiptoed closer to the building, careful not to disturb them.

 _Honk!_

He jumped again. The incessant honking continued as Ingrid's tiny, uncomfortable and banged up, old automobile crawled nearer. He gasped. He could not believe what he was seeing. The woman had an undoubtedly intense gleam in her eye, as though she was about to ram him down into the dirt. She soon parked, however, leaving Charles to heave a sigh of relief. He frowned concernedly as he approached the vehicle. As he drew closer, he could see the two girls in the backseats. Angelina had her usual resting bitch face on, while Emily seemed much more eager to be in her father's workplace.

" Ingrid?" he asked quizzically. Ingrid exited the driver's seat and slammed the door, the sound echoing throughout the mill and into the forest. The merry singing was now starting to become a little bit eerie. " Ingrid, what's the matter?" he questioned again as they met each other.

The boss' put-upon wife puffed out a short, exasperated sigh. " Nothing, I'm fine," she said quickly, a fake grin plastered on her pink, sweaty face.

" Oh. Well, are you here to see Sir?" replied Charles. He had known Sir's family for as long as he'd been working at Lucky Smells, which was only two months. But he could see straight through that beam.

" Is he in the office?"

Charles was very taken aback by this weird behaviour. " He is, Ingrid, but he was on the phone when I left, so you might have to wait." With each word, he became more and more anxious. Ingrid gave one nod of the head, still grinning like the cat that got the artificial cream. Not uttering a word, she began trotting toward the office. " Ingrid," Charles called. Ingrid stopped, then hesitantly turned. " Are we still all right for brunch on Tuesday?"

Ingrid took a minute before answering, her face contorted in devastation. " I don't think so, Charles," she faltered apologetically.

" Oh," he mumbled. " OK. I'll cancel the reservation, then."

Once Ingrid had walked away, Charles' face crumbled into disappointment. He'd been itching to dish out celebrity gossip to his best lady friend, now he couldn't even do that. He didn't stop to wonder why; he was still so upset. He looked back to the car. Emily waved enthusiastically at him, while Angelina stared into space, uninterested in everything around her. " What's wrong with your mom?" he asked them after Emily rolled down a window.

" Anniversary," murmured Angelina.

Charles gasped.

Ingrid continued to stamp her way and stormed through the door. The everlasting stench of tobacco penetrated her senses, and she winced in discomfort and almost in absolute agony. Sir sat at the desk laden with mountains of paperwork. He puffed strongly on his cigar.

" What the hell are you doing here?!" he yelled furiously in surprise.

Inhaling sharply through the nose, grimacing at the smell, Ingrid folded her arms. " I could ask you the same question," she said. Her voice was eerily calm.

" Well, I—"

" Specifically, last night."

" I was here with Charles," answered Sir crossly, as if he were a child wrongly kept after class.

" Of course you were! Where else would you be?!" she snapped.

Sir grumbled angrily and cursed beneath his breath, which Ingrid did not hear. " What's so specific about last night? Hmm? Why's it so important I needed to come home?"

Ingrid saw red. " Twenty years ago, we said our 'I do's'. You know what's so important about that?! It was our china anniversary! You promised you'd come home. I had…I had everything ready," Ingrid's eyes were drowning in tears. " And you…And you didn't come. I had to eat dinner cold."

Sir sat there, stunned. He resembled his elder daughter as he stared into space, his mouth agape. After a minute or so, he arose from his chair and walked over to her. Ingrid couldn't bear to face him, so instead looked down at his ancient, beaten up shoes. " Ingrid, please," he whispered. He inadvertently blew smoke right in her face. " I've had a lot of work to do. If you like, we can go out for dinner tonight. Just us two. Make a nice evening out of it." Ingrid quivered, not daring to lose her focus on the creaking leather. " Better yet," Sir went on, " I'll cook you dinner. I can get a recipe off Charles." He hoped his gravel voice sounded cheerful, but it wasn't.

Ingrid could do nothing else but tremble in her despair. " Don't mention Charles again!" she cried.

Cigar in one hand, the boss cupped his wife's chin in both, which forced her to meet his eye. " What would you like me to do, then?" He could barely hear his own mumble.

Ingrid attempted to calm her shaking breath, but it was futile. " Just…promise me one thing, Tom," she whispered, using Sir's real name for the first time, well, ever.

" Sure. Anything."

Ingrid paused again. She hoped with all her heart that this was some twisted nightmare, but knew she had to face reality. One tear dripped down her cheek onto her freshly washed, cream-coloured blouse. " Never stop loving him."

Sir's eyebrows shot straight up. " Wait, what?"

" I've seen the way you look at him," she said. She didn't need to bother to say she was referring to Charles. " Because you used to look at me like that."

Wanting desperately to discard that ridiculous notion, Sir's felt his voice fail him. Instead, he just listened.

" It's OK. I'm not mad. We're just…not in love anymore. But you and Charles…You have something. Don't go and ruin that."

Sir nodded dumbly, escorted her to the door, across the mill's grounds to her car. By now, Charles and the boss' daughters were laughing and yabbering on like a bunch of drunken apes. They all stopped at once when they saw the glum parents. Sir tried to smile in appreciation, but it seemed he'd forgotten how smiles worked. His cheeks throbbed.

" Thanks for those," he said finally. His eyes darted toward the car, where his daughters sat buckled in. " They've been great."

" They have, haven't they?" replied Ingrid, once she realised he was talking about their children. She brushed trembling fingers across her wet cheeks as a pathetic attempt to wipe away tears. Charles was drawn to listen in.

" So you're off home now, then?" Sir piped up in a falsely cheerful tone. He was wondering when would be a good time to retrieve all his belongings, but thought it best not to mention it yet.

Ingrid nodded gently. " Yeah. Maybe we'll visit my mom at some point, too."

" Give her my best, won't you?"

" OK. Well, Tom," it felt oddly liberating to keep on using that simple little name, " I'd better get going."

Sir gave a solitary nod. He watched silently as Ingrid returned to her vehicle. His heart quaked when he saw his now ex-wife weep into the steering wheel. Equally heartbroken, Charles stepped forward to stand bravely beside his love. He didn't utter a word. He didn't really want to. All he wanted was to be there for Sir, even if it meant speaking or not. Inside the car, Angelina was trying to comfort her mum and failing. The words came eventually.

" Mom," she began. " What you did for Sir…It was humble." She took a moment to think. " Yeah, humble. You didn't want to do it, I can understand that, but you did it so he could be happy. So two people could be happy. That's really admirable."

Emily nodded, smiling, in agreement, even though she didn't truly understand the nature behind her sibling's speech.

Ingrid's bottom lip wobbled as she digested the events of the day. Her baby _was_ right. It was better for two people to be happy than three who were absolutely miserable. At last, she gave the girls a shaky, unconfident smile.

" Who wants pizza?" she cried, her voice croaky and crackly.

" Me! I do!" cried Emily, who could have exploded out of her seat with delight. Angelina's eyes gambolled.

Their mother chuckled hoarsely. " Good," she wheezed. " Come on, we can take in a boxset, too."

" As long as we don't watch soaps," grumbled the teenager.

Ingrid started up the engine and drove down to the main road. Sir continued to watch as the car became a little speck in the distance. His cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes filled with tears that never fell. " That's that, then," he muttered miserably. He glanced to Charles.

" What did she say?" Charles asked.

Sir looked back to where the car had been parked, and then turned to his partner once more. " She told me to love you," he said, as blunt as day.

Charles' eyes widened, his chest seized up, and all of his Christmases came at once!

" Well, come on, then," Sir announced, as if no bombshell had been dropped. " That paperwork isn't going to do itself."

With a tobacco-stained hand, he stole Charles' clean one. As they walked back up to the office hand in hand, Charles simply couldn't keep it out of mind.

" Your name is Tom?" he asked, tickled.

" Yes."

" So, does that mean I can call you Tom?"

" No."


End file.
